


my wintertime love (to be)

by jill_ian



Series: also on tumblr [5]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22994401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jill_ian/pseuds/jill_ian
Summary: Steve had only made it to the bottom step of the porch when a sudden movement out in the middle of the yard caught his eye, a dark shape in the otherwise perfect sheet of white snow.A dark shape with bright blue eyes and blond curls.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: also on tumblr [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623685
Comments: 14
Kudos: 112





	my wintertime love (to be)

Steve needed air. Badly.

A couple minutes past one AM at Tommy’s annual Friday-before-Christmas party and the façade was slipping.

His cheeks hurt from the fake smile that pulled his lips, supported a flat laugh. Hand hurt from the white knuckled grip he’d used to hold every beer can, felt them all bend in his palm when the liquid got too low. Squeezed and squeezed and squeezed like the pressure that squeezed his chest, the heat that clung to his skin. Made him itch, sweat, squirm.

Through the kitchen window, he could see that the back porch was empty, covered with a thick layer of snow, still falling steadily from the sky. But empty.

He cut through the crowd of sloppy teenagers to make his escape, dampened the music and screams inside the house when he slid the glass door closed behind him.

No noise, just peace. Just the feeling of cool, fresh air in his lungs and the clean smell of new snow. The vice that had held his heart captive for each of the last four hours loosened with every breath.

He knew he didn’t have to go back in the house if he didn’t want. Knew how to get to the front yard from here, where the lock stuck and how to pull on it so that the gate would actually open.

He could just get in his car and go. Go home and sleep. Forget that he’d even tried. Tried to pretend.

He’d only made it to the bottom step of the porch when a sudden movement out in the middle of the yard caught his eye, a dark shape in the otherwise perfect sheet of white snow.

A dark shape with bright blue eyes and golden, blond curls.

Lying in the snow with his chin tipped back, face tilted towards the sky.

Billy Hargrove.

It’s not that they were friends. Not really. An apology without eye contact and the occasional _hey_ in the hallway didn’t make two people friends.

But fuck if Steve wasn’t curious.

He was slow to cross the yard, dragged his feet through the snow and pressed a little harder into the ground than he normally would. Wanted Billy to know he was approaching him, that he wasn’t trying to sneak or scare him.

The closer he got, the more he could see. Could see that Billy was only in a t-shirt and that his arms were spread wide, packed snow in long lines on either side of him that stretched from his fingertips, as high as his shoulders down to his torso.

Steve had barely even begun to process the fact that Billy was lying out in the snow, let alone that it looked like he was lying in the imprint of a _snow angel_ when Billy turned his head, something like a smile pulling at the edges of his lips.

“Harrington,” he said, voice deep, smooth. “What are you doing out here?” Casual, like this was normal. Almost made Steve laugh.

“Somebody had to make sure you weren’t dead,” he stated. Impulse found him kicking at Billy’s foot. “It’s freezing, man. Aren’t you cold?”

“Not really.”

Steve’s stomach jumped when he felt a nudge against his ankle, realized Billy was kicking him back.

“Are you drunk?”

Billy tilted his head to one side. “Aren’t you?” He didn’t move his foot away and the weight of his shoe was heavy against Steve’s ankle, cold where snow from the sole stuck to his jeans.

Steve ignored him, ignored the heat sparking in Billy’s eyes, focused, intense in that way they always seemed to be. “How long have you been out here?”

“A while,” he said, a shrug in his voice, the same shrug that pulled at his shoulders if only for a second. “Can’t really get up.”

Steve was smiling now, couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing. “How much did you have to drink?”

“No more than you.” Steve didn’t have time to think about that statement before Billy kicked at him again, no real force hidden beneath the action. Playful. Almost gentle. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

He gestured with his chin down to his toes and holy shit, Steve had been right.

Billy Hargrove had left a perfectly good party, went out into the cold in a t-shirt to go make a snow angel.

And now the Californian King of _Fuck Off_ and _Fuck You_ had snow in his hair and cold roses coloring his cheeks because he didn’t know how to climb out.

Steve had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his smile from widening.

“You want help?” he asked, and for some reason, the question made Billy laugh.

“Not unless you have somewhere to be,” he replied, shifted like he was trying to settle in, probably just made himself more stuck than he already was. “I got all night.”

“You’ve got fifteen minutes before you get hypothermia,” he leaned down slowly and reached his hands out into the empty air, “tops.”

He almost gasped when Billy sat up to take them, skin like ice against his own. He took a step forward, stopped at the edge of the imprint, toes nearly nudging at Billy’s. “There. Now, step on my shoes.”

Billy’s eyebrows pinched. “What?”

“That’s the trick. You gotta step on my shoes,” he repeated, but Billy didn’t move and Steve squeezed his hands. “Trust me. Just do it.”

Billy hesitated, but did so after a second, set the balls of his feet on the tops of Steve’s shoes, tentative, unsure.

In one swift motion, Steve pulled him up and took a quick step back, brought Billy up with him and out of the way of the snow angel.

It was obvious Billy hadn’t been expecting any of that in the way he crashed against his chest, steadied himself by grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders. The force of it sent Steve’s hair to fall down over his forehead, covered part of his eyes, tickled at his skin.

Billy’s eyes were wide looking up at him and he sounded out of breath when he said, “Jesus,” but he didn’t take his eyes away from Steve’s face.

“See,” Steve said, the soft huff of a laugh in his voice, flicked his eyes over to the ground. “Perfect.”

But Billy didn’t follow his gaze, still had yet to look away. His chest, his nose, his forehead less than an inch away from Steve’s.

“Yeah.” His voice was low as the line of his eyes fell, slowly, just slightly. “Perfect.”

Billy’s breaths were heavy, warm on his cheeks, nothing like the ice-cold grip he had on his arms, the bite of the steady wind trying cut them where they stood.

Something in the air shifted as silence settled heavy. Thick. Palpable.

They’d been this close before, basketball had made sure of that, but not exactly face-to-face, nose-to-nose. Not in a way that gave Steve the chance to look. Gave him the chance to see.

Here, Steve could see the snowflakes that clung to his eyelashes, that his steel blue eyes were speckled green and his cheeks were dusted with freckles. That the tip of his nose was bright red and his lips were pink and full.

Inviting.

Steve’s jaw went slack when Billy let go of one of his shoulders, reached up to push the hair back from his forehead, away from his eyes. Dragged the rough pads of his fingertips through it, sent Steve’s heart up into his throat.

Billy’s smile pulled higher at one side than the other when he let go of his shoulder and took a step away, rubbed at the back of his neck with the hand that had just been in Steve’s hair.

Broke the silence with a soft cough to clear his throat. “I’ll see you around then, huh?”

But he didn’t wait for an answer before he pushed off his heel and stepped through the snow, followed in the footsteps Steve had made a few minutes ago.

Steve couldn’t move as Billy walked away, watched as he pulled at the sliding glass door and disappeared into the house.

The dead of winter in Hawkins, Indiana and his body was on fire.

What the hell just happened?

**Author's Note:**

> based on the dialogue prompts, "Are you drunk?" and "I don't want to screw this up."


End file.
